


a piece of everything

by egare



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dark, Drabble, Dragon Age Kink Meme, F/M, It Would Be Body Horror if I was a Better Writer, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-24
Updated: 2017-08-24
Packaged: 2018-12-19 05:43:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11891232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/egare/pseuds/egare
Summary: He stole her heart first. Then he took her arm. Still, Solas must realize that it's not enough. If he cannot have her entirely (which, he knows, he never will), he will take her in parts.





	a piece of everything

**Author's Note:**

> HERE'S THE PROMPT http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/15543.html?thread=58273463#t58273463 K THNX BYE

The first time he sees her, he is fascinated with her hand. He yearns to get even just a touch, to feel the calloused hands of the hunter, to understand what makes one of the Dalish special enough to bear his mark. And the opportunity presents itself when she is unsure what to do with the Mark, as she comes close to her first rift. He grabs her hand, and in that moment, he knows what he wants.

He wants everything.

Her smile is almost unbearable, forcing him to return one even if he tries to fight against it. It is shining and kind and he swears the first time he sees it that he will do anything in his power to protect it.

Her ears fascinate him, adding another part he wishes to have. They twitch at every emotion and darken at every blush, and she has a trick to wiggle them when they come across saddened children. She is such a gentle soul, he decides as he watches her lift a three year old so that he can touch her ears. The world does not deserve her.  
  
His eyes turn to her legs as she runs, and he admires the view, admires the length and muscle and beauty that he did not know could exist in such bastardized elves. Yet there they are, beautiful. They are stunning in her armor, as she swings one over a horse to go help others, and they are even more stunning as he sees her exit a river from where she was bathing. Her legs bend and stretch and push and kick, and he wishes that he could add the verb 'spread' to the list of things they do.

He wishes to have her face. Something twists in his heart every time he sees the mark of Andruil's servants scarring her perfect skin, the slight indentations of the vallaslin marring what would have been a stunning visage. Not that she is not beautiful, on the contrary, she is more beautiful than anyone he has seen before. But she is marked with something that masks her beauty, and he adds 'remove filth' to his list of things he has to do to achieve what he once lost.

A lust for her entire body follows, and it is accompanied by the first thing he takes- her heart. She swoons for him and blushes at every gentle word he sends her way. She lingers under his touch and falters under his gaze and she is so very beautiful he can hardly stand the moments they are alone. Yes, it is true that first, he takes her heart.

He takes her face and her gods at the same time. She cries out as he forces his magic on to her, whispering kind words to comfort her as her beliefs are taken right from her own skin. Her ideals are thrown to the ground and crushed like they should be; he does not understand why she hates him for his actions, he explains they were the marks of a slave, she should be thankful that she no longer lives a life of lies! He saves her and she repays him with curses and spitting. But he knows she had no reason to pray to false gods and despicable elves- she is a goddess of her own making, not connected to her horrid ancestors. She has no need for them, she is worth more than all of the Evanuris combined.

He takes her arm, though he does not wish to. He knows that if he does not take it, he will have to take the one thing he never wants to take from her. He will have to take her life, and she would be able to give him nothing more. So he takes her arm, a sacrifice he is willing to make to ensure the survival of the rest of his love. The arm turns to ash under his touch, staining the floor as what was once beauty turns repugnant.

The next time they meet, he takes her crossbow arm. It does not take any effort, a bit of manipulation of the world around him and he is able to grasp the weapon that took the place that once held her arm. She curses him and reaches for it, and he is torn between returning it to have a chance to touch her once again, or keeping it away to keep her in his sights.

He opts for the second choice, breaking the bow in half and tossing it off the cliff, never breaking eye contact with her.

He takes her legs, as she rages against his hold on her all the way back to his palace. But he knows that if he does not get rid of this one thing, no matter how much it hurts to commit such a sin and destroy such beauties, he will lose everything. He will lose the few parts he has left.

He takes her tongue when she tries to bite it off, completing the removal she started and healing it before she can harm herself anymore. Her screaming turns incoherent, words unable to be formed, but even the sound of her voice is like a bird's song from a cage, melodic, euphonious.

He takes her eyes next. They are beautiful, and he is sad to see them go, but they wander far too much. It is dangerous, to see how she looks out the window from her seat next to it, giving a soft sigh and letting her eyes gaze out to the ground hundreds of feet below. She wishes for an escape, but he cannot allow it- he will not let anyone take her away from him again.

He does not take her spirit. There are many things he takes, her heart, her limbs, her organs, but he cannot take her spirit, for it is gone by the time he goes to retrieve it.

There is one thing that she takes, the one thing he wishes to never have had taken away. She steals it in the dead of night, her guard having assumed her asleep, having gone lazy in his watch. She takes her life, giving it to the ground below, mangling the body that he only ever praised. He does not know why she did such a thing- he has given her everything, why did she have to take the one thing he never wished to lose? But his begging and screaming and raging does not give her back, and he is forced to only admire her motionless form, distraught, but not discouraged.

He admires, he takes, and he gives.

He gives back her eyes, pushing her hair out of the way and putting it behind her ear as he admires how they look. They are back where they belong.

Her legs and arm are stitched back, clothing picked to cover the crude marks that now destroy the beauty she once was. If he does not think about it for long, it is almost like the limbs were never gone in the first place.

Her tongue is unable to be returned, the precision needed too delicate to be positive that he would not hurt her once more. Instead, he just keeps her mouth shut, admiring the beauty of her silence.

He lets a hand rest against her cold cheek, stares into the unblinking eyes of the woman he once loved, still loves, and wonders where he went wrong. For such a beauty to be reduced to this, still beautiful, but only a husk of what she once was? After years, he learned he cannot return her spirit, for he did not take it; he thinks it fitting punishment for what he did. Fitting punishment, for how he kept her close and safe as the world was destroyed around them, for how he was unable to see that he was destroying her as well.


End file.
